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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405591">The Short Life of Private Gordon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FracturedSpine/pseuds/FracturedSpine'>FracturedSpine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>NPCs of COD Zombies [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call of Duty (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Broken Arrow, Call of Duty Zombies - Freeform, Classified - Freeform, Game: Call of Duty: Black Ops 4, Game: Call of Duty: Zombies, Private Gordon, Ultimis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:15:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FracturedSpine/pseuds/FracturedSpine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of the Classified punch cards. Private Gordon was working the night shift at Groom Lake only for a strange creature to materialise and awake Dr Edward Richtofen from his comatose state.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>NPCs of COD Zombies [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1532294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Short Life of Private Gordon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Private Gordon had never been the sharpest kid in school, hell even his Momma had told him that. He had joined the military at seventeen after his Papa had left them in order to help support his ailing Momma and his younger sister. So far he had spent much of his career working night shifts. Such shifts were reserved for “kids who didn’t know how to tie their shoelaces”, Mr Pernell had once told him. He hadn’t thought much of it because he knew perfectly well how to tie his shoelaces. </p><p>But right now Private Gordon was mopping the floor of Hangar 18. Truthfully he enjoyed nights like this. It was quiet and most of the time the soldiers on duty were nicer to him than during the day. He would often slink off and find them huddled in a back room playing a game of cards, the radio on loud blaring rock n’ roll, the room hazy from cigarette smoke and the smell of spilt alcohol. </p><p>He put the mop back into the bucket. He would have to change the water soon. </p><p>He bent down and picked up the pail and headed for the side door so he could dispose of the dirty water, whistling the chorus to <em>She Loves You</em> as he went. </p><p>In the corner of his eyes he spied the cells. He had been told not to talk to the people in those cells or even approach them, but that was difficult to do when you had to mop the entire floor of Hangar 18. He had even attempted to say a few words to the American who sat slouched behind the bars, but he had never received a reply. The man hadn’t even looked at him. </p><p>Sometimes he could hear them muttering to themselves about blowing up the Earth. Gordon couldn’t think of anything those words could refer to other than the H bombs. He wondered if they had seen the destruction of Hiroshima or Nagasaki or maybe those experiments out in the desert. It would serve as an explanation for their odd state of mind. </p><p>On the other side of the hangar was a room that could only be described as a makeshift operating theatre. Here lay a man strapped to a table with all kinds of wires and tubes jammed into his body. Private Gordon didn’t know who the man was, only that he must be important. When he first arrived, Gordon had been forbidden to go near that part of Hangar. There had been armed guards outside as dozens of doctors made an attempt to resuscitate him. There were even a number of officers watching their progress. Only they hadn’t made any progress. So they had left him in that room alone, with the wires still plugged into his body. </p><p>Gordon had made his way to the side door. He opened it and poured the dirty water on the cracked concrete beside him. He sighed, holding the mop under his arm. It would probably take another three more buckets to finish the job.</p><p>He shut the door and began walking to Hangar 18’s store room. </p><p>Private Gordon wasn’t exactly sure what he saw. Even those he told in his blind hysteria never truly believed his words. </p><p>There before him, in the centre of the hangar was a blue light. A bright, blue light that illuminated the entire building. The light itself wasn’t what terrified him, no, it was what stepped out of the light. </p><p>He watched in fear as a shadowy figure emerged from the light. Gordon had read many of those sci-fi comics as a child and his mind was filled with the horrors that such a being could want with him. But as the figure became more corporal, the blue light began to fade. Even in the murky hangar light he could see that the being was human in shape, he also recognised the clothes that the being was wearing. It was a uniform, an old one from the war. He looked at the red strip of fabric tied around its left arm in fear and loathing. It was a German uniform. A Nazi uniform. </p><p>The mop and bucket slipped from Gordon’s fingers and fell to the floor in a loud clatter. He knew then that the being had seen him, but yet it paid the young soldier no notice. </p><p>Despite all his terror and his heart hammering in his chest, Gordon’s feet refused to move. He stood there watching this figure as it began to move towards him. It was then that he realised there was something wrong with its face.</p><p>It’s skin was a dark grey and sunken and what’s worse was the fact that it seemed to be <em>peeling</em>. Large chunks of flesh were missing so that he could see the bone and tendons underneath. And as it moved its body seemed to contort into angles no healthy human should. He wanted to scream but no noise reached his throat. </p><p>Instead he watched in silent horror as the thing limped and dragged itself across the floor. It was, he realised heading for the room that housed the unresponsive man. It reached out and opened the door, disappearing inside. </p><p>Private Gordon took a few steps forwards, anxious to see what the creature would do, yet he kept his distance. </p><p>From the other side of the hangar he observed as the being reached out to the unresponsive man. It grabbed him violently by the wrist so hard that Gordon was sure that the strange creature intended to hurt the poor bed ridden fellow. </p><p>But it didn’t. </p><p>The moment the strange creature touched the man it disintegrated. Fell apart into tiny grains of grey ash. The spectacle was so odd that at first Private Gordon didn’t believe what he had seen. He blinked several times and glanced around the hangar to check that he was not hallucinating. Yet, as his eyes returned to that room, he spotted a small pile of dust where the creature had been. </p><p>And suddenly the bed ridden man began to twitch. The twitching quickly turned to convulsing. Gordon knew that he needed to get help. The poor man was possibly suffering from some kind of life threatening attack, but he remained frozen in morbid curiosity. </p><p>Then the man screamed. </p><p>Private Gordon flinched. </p><p>He didn’t think he had ever heard a grown man scream before and it terrified him. Gordon inched closer, perhaps to see if there was anything he could do to help the man before him, but he wasn’t sure. He should really leave and get help. </p><p>He watched as the man then threw his head back. </p><p>Gordon thought he was about to begin convulsing again, but instead the man began to laugh. </p><p>Laugh was probably the wrong word for it. It was more of a deranged cackling that Gordon was sure no sane person could ever utter. The sound of it chilled him to his very bones. It was twisted, sickening laughter. </p><p>The laughter of a madman. </p><p>He ran from the hangar. </p><p>He ran all the way to the main building, bursting through the doors, panting heavily. The personnel around him quickly stopped whatever they were doing and rose to their feet, heavily concerned. </p><p>“Private?” A soldier beside him questioned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”</p><p>Gordon quickly swallowed his breaths trying to regulate his breathing. </p><p>“There was this blue light… and a German zombie…” Zombie was the only word that Private Gordon could use to describe what he had seen. Whilst it was definitely human, it certainly didn’t look alive. “It touched that man... and it disappeared into ash… and he started laughing-”</p><p>The soldiers around him looked at each other in confusion. Gordon wasn’t one to play games like this, usually he was the victim of them, but none of them, not a single one, could believe the words coming out of his mouth. </p><p>“Wait, slow down.” A soldier grabbed Gordon by the shoulder and steadied him. No doubt he had seen something, the boy was as white as a sheet.</p><p>“That man... he’s awake.” </p><p>The soldiers nodded, they all knew the person Gordon was referring to and suddenly they snapped to attention. But what they had overlooked was why this had terrified young Gordon so.</p><p>“You go and get the doctors.” One of them barked at his colleagues. “I’ll go and get Pernell.”</p><p>That just left Private Gordon. </p><p>“What about me?” </p><p>The soldier approached him, giving the boy a smile of encouragement and reassurance.</p><p>“Go on back and try and talk to him. I’d guess he’d be pretty confused as to where he is. Do you think you can do that, Private?” </p><p>He nodded. </p><p>Gordon jogged the way back to Hangar 18. </p><p>He hurried in through the side door and quickly approached the room. But in the corner of his eye he noticed something. </p><p>The three men in the cells were now sitting up and watching him through glazed eyes. Their faces were blank, devoid of any expression Unmoving as they were, they could easily be mistaken for mannequins. </p><p>Gordon made a small noise of horror and surprise. </p><p>He neared the room, its door still ajar and peered inside. </p><p>His heart sank.</p><p>The bed was empty. </p><p>The medical equipment that had been attached to his body lay discarded and slowly Gordon entered the room, glancing around to see if he could find the missing man.</p><p>And suddenly, something grabbed him and held something cold against his neck. Cold and sharp. </p><p>Gordon screamed. </p><p>His eyes frantically searched for any glimpse of his captor. He could see his black, leather clad hands in the corner of his eyes, as well as the handle of the knife against his neck.</p><p>He tried to wriggle free, but the knife was pressed harder into his neck. </p><p>“Please… please…” He cried.</p><p>The man chuckled darkly. He could feel his breath against his ear.</p><p>“Where am I?” His captor’s voice was accented, but in his blind panic, Gordon didn’t notice.</p><p>“Groom Lake, Nevada, sir. Please don’t...” He held his arms out in surrender. </p><p>“What year?”</p><p>“1963, sir.” Gordon was breathing hard, his whole body sweating. He hadn’t expected this, any of this. Sure he had been told that this man might be a bit dazed after waking up, perhaps even a little aggressive, but certainly not murderous. </p><p>His mind thought back to the man’s twisted laughter. </p><p>Gordon felt faint. </p><p>“And what did you see?” The man uttered darkly. </p><p>This was a question that his life depended on, Gordon realised. </p><p>“I didn’t see anything, sir. I swear.” He quickly lied, but man the man wasn’t having any of it. They both knew he had lied. He could feel the man behind him smiling. </p><p>“Not even my little Untoten?”</p><p>Gordon didn’t know what he meant by the word “untoten” and the other seemed to realise, but it was then that Gordon noticed his captor’s accent. He was German, German like...</p><p>“...The zombie?” The man elaborated. </p><p>Gordon’s head began to swim. Zombies, the Living Dead were fictional works of imagination. No such thing existed and no such thing could exist. Yet he had seen it, this rotting corpse drag itself along the floor. </p><p>He gave no reply. </p><p>“Ah, I see.” And then his voice grew harsher, scathing. “And who did you tell?”</p><p>This was another question his life depended on, but Gordon felt as if he didn’t have the stomach to answer it. He couldn’t do this anymore. Where were the others who had gone to get help? Where were the doctors and Cornelius Pernell? He found himself swallowing tears. </p><p>The man scowled and pressed the blade into Gordon’s neck. He could feel it beginning to cut through his skin. </p><p>And so he told the truth. </p><p>The man didn’t seem to be angered by his admission, if anything he welcomed it. </p><p>Yet, there was one final question.</p><p>“What are they being used for?”</p><p>Despite not being able to see them, he knew perfectly well the people he was referring to. Those in the cells. All four of them had arrived about the same time, it made sense that he was asking after them.</p><p>Private Gordon wasn’t necessarily sure what exactly the men were being used for. He knew that twice a day doctors would visit them and inject them with some strange substance. Sometimes they were sedated and taken away, only to reappear hours later. He supposed they must be checking them for something.</p><p>“Tests, sir. I’m not sure, sir.” Gordon stammered. </p><p>That appeared to be the wrong answer. </p><p>“Tests?” The man hissed. “You mean to say I came all this way to be experimented on?!”</p><p>He was shouting now and the knife against his neck was beginning to get painful. </p><p>“No sir, I don’t know sir, please don’t hurt me.”</p><p>He tried to push himself away from his captor. He was absolutely terrified. </p><p>“You are useless!” He scowled and then the man released him.</p><p>At first he didn’t feel anything but some kind of liquid running down his neck. His fingers touched the wet substance only to come away red. And then the pain began. It was all he could feel, he covered his neck but it was flowing too fast. He collapsed. It was all over his hands, his clothes, the floor, there was too much of it. His vision was growing hazy, there was a ringing in his ear. </p><p>The last thing he ever saw was a pair of black leather jackboots.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whilst this story has a gruesome end, it is based on the language Pernell uses in the Classified punch cards. He gives the report “on behalf of Private Gordon” and also stating that he “cannot verify Private Gordon’s story”. I know it's probably just me over analysing it but I thought it makes it interesting.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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